Control
by Ambereyedwolfchild
Summary: Jim hates sleeping and Sebastian hates sleep deprived Jim. Jim won't go to sleep on his own and Sebastian is more than willing to make him. Part 2 of my 30 Day OTP Challenge: Cuddling Somewhere. MorMor. Sebastian Moran/Jim Moriarty. Pre-slash, I think?


_**Day Two: Cuddling Somewhere**_

There are a lot of things Jim hates. Idiots, eating, losing and often Sebastian- depending on his mood. But if there was one thing that Jim truly despised it was sleep. The criminal claimed it was a waste of time, and that he had better things to do than sleep. Jim doesn't want to sleep and his body does, giving in would be losing. So Jim doesn't sleep. Sebastian can tell when Jim's going to crash, it's a carefully honed skill after years of living with the man. It wasn't obvious, not unless you knew him well and Sebastian was the only one allowed to know Jim that well.

The first clue was first thing in the morning. Sebastian rolled out of bed; about four hours earlier than he'd have liked to because Jim's an annoying twat who schedules his hits at ridiculous times to piss him off; and padded into the living room. Jim was sat _exactly _where he'd been when Sebastian had gone to bed, typing frantically on his laptop. "Sebastian. Tea." The Irishman snapped curtly, glaring as if Sebastian had interrupted his train of thought just by daring to breathe in the same room as him.

That was the second clue. Because Jim had a fuckload of nicknames for Sebastian, ranging from Sebby and Tiger to Moran if he was in a particularly bad mood, but he never used the sniper's first name. Sebastian wandered through to the kitchen, wordlessly clicking on the kettle and pulling out his phone. He tapped out a few text messages- rearranging one of his hits and delegating some of his duties. That cleared most of his day, just one hit left on his list. It was an important one, high profile and beyond challenging. Sebastian couldn't risk that one with a less talented sniper. Jim would never forgive him if it got messed up. As the kettle whistled he moved on autopilot, preparing Jim's tea to his ridiculously specific standards and pouring it into his favourite mug.

Jim didn't acknowledge him as he set down the tea, didn't so much as make eye contact as the sniper got ready for the hit. He cleaned his gun, checking it carefully and packing it up into his kit bag. As he started towards the door, Jim still didn't say anything. Third clue. The criminal would always say something, give Sebastian an inventive threat of what would happen if he screwed up, before he left for a job- his own silent way of telling Sebastian to be careful without showing anything as weak as sentiment. Sebastian gave him one last wary look before heading out to his hit. He had to set up his rifle, no time to worry about Jim until after the mark was dead.

It took slightly longer than he anticipated to get home, the perfect shot was eluding him and Jim didn't allow anything less than perfection. Two and a half hours after leaving Sebastian was back at the flat, still thrumming off the rush he got from pulling that trigger and ending a life in a heartbeat.

And Jim still hadn't moved, his tea untouched on the coffee table. The sniper sighed, clue four. He took a moment to toe off his shoes, putting away his gun and mentally preparing himself. Whenever Jim was like this there was no reasoning with him. Sebastian just had to keep ignoring him until he did as he was told.

In a swift movement he grabbed Jim's laptop, slamming it shut and putting it on top of a tall cabinet. "What the fuck do you think you're playing at Sebastian?" the Irishman demanded in a snarl, jumping to his feet with none of his usual grace.

"Eight days." Sebastian said simply, picking up the mug of cold tea and emptying it down the kitchen sink. He could practically feel the quizzical expression. "Since you slept. Eight days. Three days since you last ate properly."

There was a long pause then an indignant, "And?!" Sebastian rolled his eyes, raising an eyebrow at Jim as he came back into the room. "And you're going to bed. Now."

Jim glared at him, obviously debating whether or not to argue. Sebastian was depending on Jim's stubbornness here. If Jim argued then when Sebastian eventually forced him to go to bed then Jim would have lost. It was that reasoning that made the criminal stalk away into his room, picking up his phone along the way. God, Sebastian _hated _sleep deprived Jim. It turns him into a moody teenager. The sniper followed him, catching the door before it could slam. He let it close behind him, sliding under the covers without a word.

The criminal growled, pausing where he'd been changing out of his crumpled suit. "Get. Out." His tone was dangerous but not quite dangerous enough to scare Sebastian away.

"If I leave you're going to work on your phone. I'm not actually stupid." The taller man's tone was dry and steady, making Jim scowl. It was times like this that he _hated _Sebastian. Jim huffed, stripping down to his underwear and wordlessly climbing under the covers, wrapping them around himself. Sebastian smiled in amusement and triumph at the annoyance rolling off Jim in waves, counting silently in his head; one, two, three, four. Right on cue Jim rolled over, dropping his head on Sebastian's shoulder and throwing an arm over him. Sebastian didn't move as Jim got comfortable, letting his boss tangle their legs together and slowly relax against his chest. He looped his arms around Jim's waist, idly drawing patterns on his back.

"I still hate you." Jim mumbled, face pressed into Sebastian's neck.

Sebastian bit back a laugh, feeling the tension seep out of the criminal as he succumbed to his exhaustion. "I know you do."

If you have any prompts you'd be interested in me writing, please send me a message on Tumblr (kinkysmutdragon) or on here and I'll get right on it :)


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